


The Whole World Seen

by templemarker



Category: Elementary (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:48:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are all kinds of days, but a No Case Day is a rare and special thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Whole World Seen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leiascully](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/gifts).



> Dearest recipient, thanks so much for the awesome prompt! I had a really lovely time writing this and working out some characterization for such a brief but memorable character on the show. Exploring how Joan views her world was a satisfying challenge. 
> 
> No spoilers, apart from 1x19, "Snow Angels," where our beloved Ms. Hudson is introduced.
> 
> Happy (Sherlocky!) Holidays!

Joan had been at this long enough that she was starting to get a sense of The Days. 

There were New Case Days, which had the manic feel of final exams and roller coasters and how a heroin trip had been described to her when she was a sober companion. 

There were Middle of the Case Days, where she called up the Thai place a few blocks down and asked for the regular; they didn't have to ask where to deliver anymore. That was often the only way she could convince Sherlock to eat, a white box with a fork stuck in it a companion to his mutterings and therapeutic knife-throwing against the wall of the second bedroom. 

There were End of the Case Days, which had the tone of a deflated balloon. Joan had loved the end of cases when she'd first started working with Sherlock on a serious basis, not just following him around from one random point of town to another. There was a feeling of accomplishment, an exhilaration that came with it, like the first time she had swept into pigeon pose as if it was natural thing for her body to do. Joan had been dismayed to realize that, at some point, End of Case days had lost their luster for her as much as they had for Sherlock. 

Granted, she didn't go around moping, opening books at random and staring moodily at the bees on the roof. She found ways to reset herself, going to the baths in Midtown or having a glass of white wine at a bar while reading novels that had nothing at all to do with her course of study. 

But there were also some magical days, infrequent given the relationship they maintained with Gregson and his precinct. These days were No Case Days, and while it was impossible to predict when they would happen, Joan was definitely starting to recognize what the characteristics of them were when they did.

The first critical feature was that Sherlock would be gone. Joan suspected that sometimes he texted Gregson, taking them off duty, as it were. She mostly hoped that he didn't do it out of deference to her; the fact that he disappeared was a pretty good signal that it was something else. 

The townhouse would be quiet, no angry whine of old pipes or burning smells from the toaster in the kitchen. Joan would wake when her body wanted to, not when a neat tray of slightly singed toast and perfectly poached eggs (and a generous mug of coffee) were placed on her bed, right where she liked to roll over onto her back in the mornings. Her phone would be silent. 

When Joan opened her eyes, she recognized instantly that it was a No Case Day, and a slow, pleased smile graced her face. She stretched languidly, curling her toes in the sheets. She didn't bother getting dressed, just pulled on her fuzzy house boots and tugged her robe over her shoulders. 

In the bathroom, all the hot water was still available, and she wavered between a bath and a shower for a moment before picking the shower for expediency. If she could pull herself together enough, she could get to the Isa Genzken retrospective at MoMA before the student crowds arrived. 

Dressed in a favored skirt with leggings and boots in deference to the autumn weather, she nearly skipped her way down the stairs. She was reaching for her scarf when there was a slight cough to her left, in the front room. 

"Oh, shit," Joan said, clapping a hand over her heart and leaning against the coats. "Fuck. Ms. Hudson, I didn't know you were coming today."

Ms. Hudson looked stunning, as she always did, in lavender crepe and a cashmere sweater. She smiled, warmly. "Today is one of my days, Joan. You're usually gone by this hour."

She held several books in her hands; scanning the titles, Joan was impressed to see that they were exactly the volumes she and Sherlock had finished with, from two back-to-back cases ago. Frankly, Joan was impressed by Ms Hudson in general--she didn't quite understand all of what Ms. Hudson actually did for the men she worked with, but her ability to slide into Sherlock's space and back out again was in itself some kind of genius. 

"Oh," Joan said, and paused a moment. "Yes. Of course it is. I apologize for my, hm, my overblown reaction."

Ms. Hudson's smile could warm the sun itself. "Not at all, Joan. This is your home. You have a right to expect solitude, or at least as close as you get with Sherlock around."

Joan found herself nodding, and she fingered her scarf, thinking, as Ms. Hudson put each book in a highly specific place. 

She could go to the MoMa, which would be there tomorrow--two No Case days in a row was the standard--or she could take this singular opportunity to learn more about her reclusive housekeeper. Joan didn't even have Ms. Hudson's phone number. 

"Ms. Hudson," Joan said. "Would you like to join me for some tea? I just got a new citron green I wanted to try out, and while the patio hasn't really been fixed up, it should be sunny out there this time of day."

She saw Ms. Hudson hesitate for a moment, and Joan hoped she hadn't overstepped; Ms. Hudson seemed delicate at times, though Joan believed she must have a steel core to have lived her life as true to herself as Ms. Hudson clearly had done. 

"Yes," Ms. Hudson said finally. "That would be lovely. Let me put the kettle on."

"I can do that," Joan said. 

Ms. Hudson smiled, and shook her head slightly. "If it's all right with you, I'd rather do it myself."

Joan licked her lips, a nervous habit she'd never quite been able to lose from her childhood. "Sure," she said. "Of course that's fine. The tea is in the canister by the sugar."

Joan busied herself with checking her phone for new texts or emails; there was nothing that really required action, so she went out to the patio. The sunlight was only a foot and a half away from where the table was placed, so she tugged it a little in the direction of the sun. She brushed the leaves off the chairs, which were fortunately dry, and looked up to see Ms. Hudson come out with something in her hand. 

"For the table," Ms. Hudson said, going back inside; it was a small tablecloth, ideal for the size of the table, and Joan shook her head in disbelief. She had no idea where Ms. Hudson had found it. 

Ms Hudson returned with the tray, loaded with the tea set and some macarons that must have come out of her purse, or from her secret fairy wand. Something like that. 

"They're green tea macarons, from Le Pain de Vie," Ms. Hudson explained as she set it down. "I saw them in the window, and I got the urge to buy them." She smiled. "Now I know why."

Joan took her cup of tea; it smelled like spring and felt wonderful in her palms. They chatted about the weather, Sherlock, the best way to clean a teakettle. Ms. Hudson refilled the tea pot, and brought out toast points with a saucer of almond butter and a dish of honey. "I thought you might want to eat a bit more, since I kept you from a proper breakfast," Ms. Hudson said, almost apologetically. 

"Ms. Hudson," Joan said very seriously, "I think you may be some kind of magical creature."

Ms. Hudson laughed, a beautiful sound. "Τί δύσκολον; Τὸ ἑαυτὸν γνῶναι," she said, and it sounded like a quote. Joan cocked her head in question. 

"It's interesting, how I appear to people. It's different every time," she said, placing her cup with grace on the tray. "I'm a bit older, now. I've seen and done so many of the things I dreamed of as a child." She swept her hands open slightly, and Joan admired the long bones of her fingers. "And I have learned so much about my own failings, and the things--the men--that I care for, a shade more than any woman in my situation would find it prudent to do." She pressed her lips together, and Joan refilled her cup, earning a small smile. 

"But even with hindsight available to me, I can't tell how much of how people perceive me is drawn from the person I always was, and how much is from the person I made myself into. I don't know if that's even a question that can be asked or answered at this point," she said. "But when I wake up in the mirror, and I look at myself, I recognize myself. I'm deliriously happy that I'm the woman I always dreamed of being, a scholar and a--a muse." Ms. Hudson smiled again. "And I'm continually pleased that I can bring others happiness with often the smallest of gestures."

Joan realized then that Sherlock must have told Ms. Hudson that it was No Case Day, that he meant for them to have this time together, to learn each other a bit more. She bit her lip against a smile, and Ms. Hudson's eyes were dancing with laughter. 

"Thank you for sharing that with me," Joan said. 

"Thank you for wanting to listen," Ms. Hudson replied. 

The sun was slanting to the west by the time they had finished their conversation, and their tea.

**Author's Note:**

> "Τί δύσκολον; Τὸ ἑαυτὸν γνῶναι" is line attributed to Thales, from Pausinais' "Description of Greece." The translation is: "What is hard? To know thyself." (c. 2 BCE.)
> 
> Title is drawn from a quote from the Zen priest Kokan, in Sen Sōshitsu XV's "The Japanese Way of Tea" (c. 14 CE).
> 
> _...A pure wind envelopes my body._   
>  _The whole world seen in a single cup._
> 
> I promise the pretentious isn't contagious.


End file.
